


Death's Keeper

by Katreal



Series: St Maryam's Home for the Lost (and Found) [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adoption, Earth C (Homestuck), Gen, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25060903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katreal/pseuds/Katreal
Summary: He never listens to you. Never. Unless it was about something important.You wouldn't have him any other way.You’re glad he listened to you about this, but you still can’t believe you’re now a fucking lusus.
Relationships: Dave Strider & Dirk Strider, Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Karkat Vantas & Dirk Strider
Series: St Maryam's Home for the Lost (and Found) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775377
Comments: 24
Kudos: 130





	Death's Keeper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coolbrewed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbrewed/gifts).



> This work is a continuation of the series inspired by coolbrewed's reincarnation AU [[See the concept post here!]](https://coolbrewed.tumblr.com/post/620102378827448320/tumblr-can-have-another-au-concept-sketch-as-a).

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you’re the keeper for the god of death.

Literally. You don’t know what this neurotic mess of a knucklehead would do without you. Probably pace his way into the sky and vanish into the great blue yonder, never to be seen again.

“Dave,” You growl at your fidgeting matesprit, getting his attention with a tap of your claw to his back. The next words are grumbled, low, so as not to carry beyond the two of you while you wait outside near your car for your new wriggler to get his things. “Don’t make me tie a fucking string on you like you’re one of those rubber air-sacks you hand out on a grub’s wriggling day. If you don’t stop floating so help me I’m going to stuff you in the four wheeled death machine and engage the grub-proof locks.”

Yes it _is_ your four wheeled death machine. Why the fuck would Dave need one? He’s a fucking _god._ The overgrown monkey can fly, as evidenced by the fact that he’s clearly having trouble keeping his feet on the goddamn ground. 

“I am--ah right sorry.” He takes a miniscule breath, and you watch critically as his shoes settle onto the paved sidewalk, “I’m cool. It’s cool KK. No need to break out the kinky bondadge shit here. Think of the fresh innocent faces that could be peeking out of that building right now. Cool as a cucumber, no wait that’s boring. And really, cucumbers aren’t _that_ cool unless you, like, stick them into the fridge to chill, in which case _why_ is it always cucumbers? Why not cool as a carrot? Or a beet? I’m pretty sure beets would be chill as fuck, beet-boxing away--haha get it. beet-boxing?”

Ugh. You roll your eyes and dig your knuckles into his hair. Gripping, and pulling him close. He doesn’t resist, and you close your eyes against the mildly uncomfortable sunlight and rest your forehead against his, the edge of his glasses digging into your cheek. He might be floating again to reach since you don’t have to bend down as much. He hasn’t been taller than you in years, which makes it wrankle when he picks you up as if you were nothing. “If I hear one more pun come out of that mouth of yours I WILL headbutt you, Strider.”

“And make Dirk regret ever agreeing to this deal by seeing his new mommy and daddy fighting? Karkat, how _could you.”_

Troll Jesus Christ you’ve been trying not to think about that. You’re going to be--you _are,_ you just signed the papers _yesterday--_ _lusus_ to a _Strider._ You can barely manage to keep a grip on this one, both figuratively and literally. How the _fuck_ are you going to do this? 

Instead of doing more than dipping a toe in that pond of insecurities, you just grunt. Dave shifts, but you can feel the tension easing out of him. Slowly. Cautiously. A prey animal returned to its den. Where it feels safe.

He’s a fucking god and he lets himself get pushed around by you. It’s--

You aren’t so dumb as to miss the coil of warmth running through your bloodpusher. You’ve had a lot of time to get used to the idea, even if you’ll never articulate it under the pain of death.

“Do you think it was okay?” Dave starts up again, the jitters lingering in his voice even as they bleed from his body, “To do this? Shouldn’t we be in there? Helping him? Being--I don’t know--parents? It’s kinda a big deal, leaving your life behind and everything in it. Or well, almost everything. I’m glad he can bring the pony, most of the kids don’t really seem to have their own things--”

“That’s the thing,” You shut him up by digging your claws into the lingering knot of muscular tension between his shoulderblades, “It’s the last few moments of this life. Keep your cartilaginous nub out of it and let him pack it up on his own. The auxiliatrice is with him--”

“You know, I’ve heard that term so many times over this last week and I still have no idea what it means--”

“The _caretaker_ , you paralysed cranium--” Not that it’s a term that matters anymore, you remind yourself. None of them do. Alternia is gone, and good riddance. It’s just. Habit. If some people look at you funny when you mention a legislacerator or a threshecutioner then, well, that’s all the more reason to double down and avoid the fuck out of people. “The limeblood??? You need to get your head out of your ass if you didn’t realize she wanted to say goodbye.”

“Right--Christ, I knew that.”

He ends up rambling on even after you release him, although you keep an arm around his shoulder to keep him from pacing--or floating--and he ends up kind of sagging his formerly bean-pole body into your side. A lot of things have changed between the two of you since you met, but thank fuck immortality doesn’t mean stuck at the age of 16 forever. That would have been hilariously awkward in all the wrong ways as soon as you hit your adult molt and bulked up. The look on his face when realized he had to literally float a foot off the ground if he wanted to continue to use your head as an arm-rest is one you fucking framed and hung in honor. You still go back and admire it now and again.

One of the better things to come out of it was the fact that Dave likes to hide under your arm now. Not that he’ll let anyone _else_ see it. As evidenced by the fact that he’s dipping free and straightening the jacket of that ridiculous suit the moment you see the auxiliatrice walking your new grub down the short, simple landscaped path toward the parking lot, grey hat, pale hair, and hand made squishy hoofbeast head sticking out of what is clearly a spinesack. The limeblood seems to have a second, larger bag, but Dirk’s hand is curled tightly over the orange strap across his shoulders. It makes you remember growing up and making sure everything you actually cared about would fit in a bag. Just in case.

“Remember. Walk.” You rumble into Dave’s ears before the human pulls away completely. You imagine you could feel a stray breeze smacking his cape into your face in the brief over the shoulder glance he gives you. Complete with cocky Strider swagger and smirk, “I got this, KK.”

“Do you really ‘got this’, Dave?” You snort, crossing your arms, “I’m spamming the X button here. You’ve been a fucking mess all week and you’ll be a fucking mess all the rest of your life.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

To your surprise, he reaches out and pulls you down just enough to get a quick peck in, before fluttering down the walkway to dump his nervous rambles on the poor maybe-not-so-unsuspecting kid.

“So, how’re ya feeling kid? Excited?” You resist the urge to literally applaud Dave for his restraint, because he actually paused to let the grub answer, even if he chooses not to do so. Dave moves on without batting an eyelash. “I gotta tell you I didn’t sleep a wink last night. I think I drove Karkat up the wall with my pacing, didn’t I Karkat?”

“I had to fish you down off the _elevated rotational ventilator_ , Dave.” Literally, though you don’t add that last bit. It does make the limeblood laugh politely however. It, more importantly, causes a twitch of a smile on the grub’s face as Dave takes the bag from the limeblood. You notice he doesn’t go for the spinesack at all, and Dirk doesn’t offer. Good. Let the kid have his shit. Hopefully it’ll help him relax.

“Yeah well it was fu--dusty up there. Like for reals don’t think that room has seen the backside of a duster in ages. Had to get all up there and evict a small colony of dust bunnies or something before they get fiesty and stir up the allergy rebellion next spring--hey kid, you allergic?”

“No.”

“Oh my god you’re lucky. That s--stuff’s miserable.”

“Oh my fucking god just say shit already.”

“KARKAT--not in front of the kid--”

You carefully don’t look in the direction of the quiet, strangled laugh even if you’re 110% positive it _isn’t_ the troll. Instead, you roll your eyes at your matesprit and pop the bumper compartment for Dave to store the luggage. It’s such a fucking shame to see a person’s life squished down into one and a half containers.

Even you had more. You had a home. You had your lusus. You miss him sometimes. More than sometimes. A lot. Even if the system you lived in was fucking broken and falling apart around you, you were loved and provided for and taught how to keep yourself safe. You had your lusus. In some way the Limeblood was Dirk’s lusus, given the way she continued to hover nearby, how it was the same volunteer to help you through this process the entire time, how she’s here now to metaphorically hand him over. You can’t help but wonder if it’s like the trolls you met working the Brooding Caverns, visiting Kanaya. They care and care and care but when you care for so many you can’t give them everything they each need.

As Dave makes small-talk with the limeblood--and god, was that wild, when you hopped ahead to the future after establishing shit and finding a whole NEW (old?) blood color popped up in your absence--you slam the bumper compartment shut and open the backseat with a glance toward the-- _your--_ new kid. “Do you want to put it down?” It comes out grouchier than you intended to, but the kid just looks up at you from underneath the shadow of the bill, those orange eyes narrowing on you and he doesn’t speak.

Not in words anyway. The message comes along quite clear in the way his hand squeezes the orange strap running over his shoulder, before turning on his heel and climbing into the car, backpack and all. He pushes himself to the complete other side, as far away from you as possible. You end with a grunted acknowledgement, closing the door before turning your attention to your matesprite, raising your voice “Whenever you’re done shooting the excrement all over the walls, we’re ready to get the fuck out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah Karkat gimme a minute, Ferahn was tellin’ me about Dirk’s favorite food. We’ll need to go out later--”

You throw up your hands in the air and stalk around the vehicle, muttering to yourself as you slide into the driver’s seat and turn the engine on so at least it’s won’t be boiling inside for the grub and you don’t need to hear Dave and the limeblood discuss your new wriggler’s preferences in minute details.

Which might be why he escaped the moment he could.

God. You’re taking him _home._

You stew in your own stress for a few minutes, contemplating laying on the horn to hurry your distractable matesprite up. You suspect he’s stalling. Now that it’s time to go he’s--not really getting cold feet but shit it means it’s _real_ Dirk is in your _car--_

“Did you really want me?” A deceptively uninterested tone drifts up from behind your seat, sending fucking _chills_ down your nerve cord and sends your train of thought squealing off the track and into a poor unsuspecting caravan full of circus clowns.

“What.” You grind out through your teeth, chomping down on a tirade that you will NOT throw in the wriggler’s face. You’ve Grown Up. You’ve learned to not be an angry Douchenozzle like Past Karkat. You will NOT go off on a kid you actually want to like you but fuck if you know how to do that. Your claws curl around the fake wool-beast fur covering your directional navigator. “Why the fuck would you ask that?”

“You’ve barely spoken to me.” The kid notes, far too calmly. As if he’s discussing the fucking weather. “I wondered if you were just letting him pick out the pet, as it were, but your relationship seems to be built less on indulgences and more on herding a very distractable cat.”

“Be grateful I don’t let him get away with his bullshit or he would have changed your fucking name.” You snort, “Of course I want you. Maybe I didn’t fall head over heels into lusus-dom like twinkletoes out there, but you seem like an interesting kid and you deserve a home and we can provide that. It doesn’t get much more simple than that.”

The silence is thoughtful. You strain your ears for any type of reaction, but of course since he’s behind the driver’s seat you can’t see him in the mirrors or out of your periphery. You aren’t ready to pull your pants down and flash the world with your bare assed NEED to know how he’s taking this shit. 

Not yet anyway.

You’re fucking strangling the steering wheel, and just about ready to yank down the window and yell at Dave to hurry the fuck up, when Dirk finally speaks again.

“What did he want to name me?”

You tell him.

Dave’s face when you call back, “Sweet Kitty Obama Strider-Vantas, you buckled the fuck up back there?!” when he finally gets his godly butt into the no-longer god-forsaken car, makes the whole wait fuckin’ worth it. 

You didn’t know the Prince of Heart at all.

But you think you’ll grow to love this kid. The whole thing was his idea.

Explaining the god shit is going to be a fucking nightmare. 

But that day is not today.

Even if Dave wants to keep it a secret to give the grub a "normal life" you know there’s a couple of flighty broads living a short flight away who aren’t going to respect shit when it comes to Dave’s plea for privacy.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3! 
> 
> Writing Karkat is hard. But I had fun. Not sure if Part 4 will involve those particular flighty broads or if it'll be Dirk settling in at home. We'll see how the muse turns.


End file.
